The Gifted Book One Chapters 1-4 By Neale Orinick
by Neale Orinick
Summary: Josie was born on a sacred day, into a secret society of powerful witches, expected to be one of the gifted. Isolated from society she is lovinglyprepared for the day when the ancient text say her gifts will emerge. At the age of realization Josie finds herself at the center of an escalating fued between the covens and fears her dreams of a normal life will never come true.


**Part One**

**Crystal Creek**

**Chapter One**

**Josie**

I grew up in a house full of witches. Not the storybook kind sporting long, green noses with warts, that fly around on broomsticks casting evils spells. No, I grew up with real witches, gifted individuals with the ability to manipulate the natural forces around them. To say I had an unusual childhood would be an understatement.

I was born into our secret little world within the world on Samhain, or Halloween as most of the world knows it, at exactly one stroke after midnight. The hour of my birth, coupled with the fact that I have dark purple eyes, were a supposedly sign that I was a very special baby, know in the ancient texts as, "The One." This would be a great source of consternation to me through out my childhood and beyond.

I am named after my father, Joseph. My birth certificate reads Josephina Elinor Grace, but I prefer Josie, and that is what everyone calls me.

"Josephina Elinor Grace, where are you?" Well, except when I am trying my grandmother's patience.

"I'm coming," I shouted as I slammed my parent's photo album shut then rolled off my bed with the book clutched to my chest. It resides permanently in my room and I often find myself getting lost in the pages and pages of photographs detailing the early years of my parent's marriage and my first few years of life. Since my father died a few days after I was born, photographs are all I have of him.

After hastily shoving the book back onto the sagging bookshelves next to my do bed, I ran down the narrow, twisting hallway to the kitchen to see why my grandmother Lucy was hollering at me.

"There you are," she sighed as I skidded around the corner, my socks slipping on the hardwood floor. "I thought I was going to have to ask Moira to send one of the dogs to hunt you down."

Moira is one of my mothers and she has the unique ability to communicate with animals. Her dogs have been my constant companions and protectors since as far back as I can remember. At her behest, they often accompany me on the long runs I do every morning around our huge property known as Crystal Creek Farm.

"Sorry, "I said as I plunked down on a chair next to her at our huge, round kitchen table. "Just looking at pictures of Joseph."

"Didn't you pack the album to take with you?" Grandma Lucy asked, already having forgiven me for keeping her waiting at the table where she was putting the finishing touches on a new blouse for me to take to college.

"No. It's too big and heavy, " I told her eyeing the beautiful dark green fabric she had chosen for the shirt. "Is it ready for me to try on?"

"Almost," my grandmother said through lips clenched around a couple of pins. "I want to see check the length before I sew the hem."

I stoop up and put the shirt on over the ratty tank top I was wearing, admiring the beautiful mother-of-pearl buttons she had used. It fit perfectly, which was not surprising, since my grandmother, my Aunt Lindy and my mothers have always made most of my clothes. "It's beautiful gran, " I told her appreciatively.

"The color certainly compliments your eyes," Grandma Lucy said, using the pins to mark where she would sew the hem. "Marta saw it in a dream about her friend in New York, the designer, and asked him to send some out for you."

Marta is also one of my mothers. Her ability to see the future in her dreams makes surprising her with anything very difficult. It's a confounding gift that she can't control, because she doesn't know exactly what causes her to dream about certain things and when. She has learned to manipulate her dreams, somewhat, so that she can pass on important information like, when it's going to rain, where you probably left your keys, or if your friend's son is doing drugs.

I'll wear it tomorrow for the trip," I told her holding my arms up out of her way so she could finish pinning the hem into place. "Is mom back yet?"

"Which mom," Grandma Lucy asked.

"Myrna. She went to fill the minivan with gas so we don't have to stop to do it in the morning."

Myrna Grace is the "mom" who married my father, Joseph Grace, and who gave birth to me. I learned this around the time I turned eight years old. I thought of all three Grandma Lucy's three daughters, Moira, Marta and Myrna as mom, because that's how they raised me.

"Hhmm," was her response as she started to unbutton the blouse to finish it in time for the road trip I was taking with my three mothers to Massachusetts where I would be going to college. I shrugged out of it and she turned away, too engrossed in her sewing project to give me an answer.

I patted her shoulder and headed back down the narrow twisting hallway that led to a variety of bedrooms in my home, know as Bindenhall Manor. From the front the house looks like a stately old English manor, but the back is an odd, untidy mix of hallways and rooms thrown up through out the many decades that the Bindenhalls have lived here to accommodate the ever changing family that has lived here for generations.

I found "the three" as my mothers are know as, in Marta's office all talking at once as they dug through file cabinets. I watched them for a few minutes from the door, struck by their beauty and amused by their odd behavior. To look at them you would never know they were triplets. Moira had waist length red hair and a pert nose in the middle of a round face atop a very curvaceous body. Marta's pale, blonde tresses swung around her lithe frame, brushing her hips like a curtain made of corn silk and making her appear taller than her sisters, when in reality they were all exactly the same height.

Myrna and I shared the same dark black hair color, but her long locks, like her siblings,' hung past her waist, whereas mine stopped just above the curve of my back. She was not quite as curvaceous as Moira, nor quite as thin as Marta, but a combination of the two. She had the same blue eyes as they did, though, and they lit up when she spied me lounging in the doorway watching them.

Josie," she said, alerting the other two to my presence and their heads snapped up to look at me.

"We can't find last month's bank statement," Myrna told me, beckoning me into the room with them.

"Are they in they in the farm files…?" Moira started to ask."

"…Or the cosmetic file cabinet?" Marta finished her sentence.

"We've looked everywhere," they all three said in unison. This was just one of the many odd behaviors of my three mothers. They finished each other's sentences, spoke all at the same time, or sometimes, would stop talking mid-sentence as they realized that they were thinking the same thing. It made having a conversation with them difficult, unless you were used to it, like I was.

"I switched everything over to paperless statements, remember?" I smiled as I sat down in front of the computer and started typing in the web address for our bank. "We agreed it was more efficient to have everything on-line."

"Oh right," they all three said together while crowding around behind my chair to peer over of my shoulder as I typed in the password and brought up our account page. "The statements are listed in newest to oldest order for the past year, and the password to the account is Grandpa Jon's middle name and birthday. "Remember?" I said again pointing to screen.

"Oh yes…" Marta said.

"…I remember that now," Myrna finished

"Thank you honey, Moira said, kissing my cheek. "We are really going to miss having you around to handle all the finances."

"I guess with all that's been going on…"Marta added.

"…We forgot that you set that up," Myrna finished.

My impending departure for college had stirred up a little trouble in the Bindenhall coven _again_.

**Chapter Two**

**The Three**

Bindenhall witches were no strange to trouble and on the occasion of Imbolc, the celebration of the first signs of spring, the weak winter sun was making its way into the sky when "the three" arrived in the world as miracle babies and considered an incredible gift from the Blessed Mother.

Aided by her husband's sister, a midwife and gifted witch named Melinda Bindenhall, Grandma Lucy gave birth to her three daughters at home. The first to leave the womb, Myrna, had dark black hair. Her sister Moira arrived exactly ninety seconds later with a shock of flaming red hair and exactly ninety seconds after that, Marta arrived with a tuft of silky, fine white-blonde hair

Melinda Bindenhall, my Aunt Lindy, fell to her knees in gratitude and awe to thank the goddess for bestowing such a momentous gift on the family. That's how Grandma Lucy tells it anyway.

"Immediately the family began showing up," Aunt Lindy told me again when I begged her to tell me the story of when my three mothers were born, "much to Jonathan's dismay (that's my grandfather and the father of the three). We were soon besieged by relatives wanting to get a look at the babies, bringing with them all sorts of advice, warnings and prophecies."

"Trouble," Grandpa Jon had snorted once when hearing the re-telling of the story as we canned tomatoes and cucumbers from greenhouse. "Everybody wanted a piece of your mothers, let me tell you. But I was havin' none of that."

The last "three" had been born 500 hundred years previously. Their many gifts were the reason the Bindenhall coven had become the most powerful and prosperous family among all the covens scattered about the world. What powers would this new "three" have? Everyone wanted to know.

I loved to hear these stories and listened with rapt attention as Grandma Lucy and Aunt Lindy recounted events from the early days of "the three."

"They all cried together when they were hungry, dirtied their diapers within seconds of one another and cut their first tooth on the exact same day," my grandmother told me once while we were all gathered around the huge dining room table. I was perched on Marta's lap, leaning on the table with dirty elbows, eager to hear the story again.

"One day they all rolled over, and before I could catch my breath they were all three sitting up and crawling," Aunt Lindy added.

"They all three spoke their first word at exactly the same time," Aunt Lindy went on. "Your grandfather nearly fell out of his chair when all three of his daughters looked up at him at exactly same time and said, "Dada."

Though their facial features and body types were a mix of their parents (they did not look identical) and their hair color wildly differed, the three all had dark blue eyes, were left-handed, wore the exact same size shoes and had the same blood type.

While these things were unique, they were not what separated these daughters from all of the other children in the family. It was their extraordinary gifts. Like "the three" before them they manifested themselves at a very early age, sometimes wreaking havoc on the household.

By the time they were a year old, both Grandpa Jon's and Aunt Lindy's elderly aunt and uncle had left the world of the living and crossed over to the spiritual universe to await reincarnation into another earthly body, leaving Jonathan and Lucy Crystal Creek Farm. My Grandpa Jon, Grandma Lucy, Aunt Lindy, and occasionally other family members, worked the farm to provide most everything they needed to live, independent of the rest of the Bindenhall coven spread out around the world, making them an unusual family, since the rest of the coven lived off a large family trust.

It was a modest operation, at least until the three came along. My grandma loves to tell the story about how the power of the three first made itself known.

One morning all three girls toddled off the blanket they were playing on to sit on the grass in the sun. They loved the way it tickled their legs and were brushing their little hands over it, giggling at the sensation it caused.

"I picked them up and brought them into the house and I swear when I went back outside that evening, the grass where they had been setting was a good three inches longer than the rest of the lawn," Grandma Lucy exclaimed. The energy that flows through all living things is especially drawn to them and together they have the ability to greatly influence the world around them.

"We knew they were going to be something special," Aunt Lindy said.

"Of course," Grandma Lucy said, "Charles and Adele Bindenhall showed up with their entourage of bodyguards, doctors and historian, insisting the girls be brought to the Tate Family Institute for testing and documentation."

Charles and Adele Bindehall were the family elders who controlled the trust most Bindenhalls depended on. Adele Bindenhall was our covens' high priestess (self-proclaimed, according to Grandpa Jon) in charge of resolving conflict, teaching others about our history and rituals, lead rituals and she and Charles were the keepers of the knowledge and wisdom passed on from each family. They worked closely with the Tate coven, another family of witches like mine, comprised of doctors and researchers in all areas of medicine and pharmaceuticals with massive medical complexes and research companies around the world.

"Your grandfather was not happy about that, let me tell you. He just wanted a simple farm life away from the controlling influence of the British Bindenhalls. To be honest with you, I was apprehensive about taking my little girls to be poked and prodded by a bunch of doctors and researchers, too." Grandma Lucy sighed. "But in the end we were persuaded that it was for the good of the family and journeyed to New York City to let them run their tests."

Marta, who could no longer contain herself, jumped into the conversation with, "Boy did we shake things up!" She laughed. "They had no explanation for our brain scan results. Still don't! We all had the exact same brain wave patterns. Even when they separated us and showed us pictures, they couldn't tell the difference between my tests and my sisters' tests."

Moira, of course, had to put in her two cents' worth then. "Our fingerprints were identical! They couldn't believe it. Even identical twins don't have exactly the same fingerprints, but the evidence was right in front of them!"

Myrna had to have her say, too: "We all had the same blood type, heart size and platelet count. It was like the same body in three different packages!"

"Damn waste of time," my grandfather muttered as he stalked through the kitchen. "After all that time and all their tests, they couldn't offer any explanation for what you could do. Should have left well enough alone." He slammed the refrigerator door closed and left kitchen to enjoy his beer in quiet solitude on the back porch.

Later, my grandfather told me that he could tell that the Bindenhalls and Tates were more concerned about how his daughters could be exploited for profit than actually documenting their gifts. "I was determined to give them a simple and peaceful life away from all that nonsense." And that's what he did.

"Only a few days after we arrived and against the family's wishes," Myrna told me, "your grandfather showed up in New York and brought us home."

That's when my work _really_ started, "Aunt Lindy chimed in. She had assumed the role of teacher to her three young nieces and began their education in all subjects, secular and magic. She had them all reading by the time they were four, doing complex math in their heads at six years old, and that same year they attempted their first spell work.

"I taught them how to care for plants and how to make them grow and flourish," she explained.

"Once we found a straggly little tomato plant and attempted to revive it," Moira said. "The next morning, when we went into the greenhouse, it had grown several inches and was forming little green, unripe tomatoes. Two days later it exploded out of the pot and we had tomatoes running out of our ears. Everything we do together shoots out into the universe and returns to us three times in strength."

She giggled then and said, "Like the rabbits."

"Oh, the rabbits," all three of my mothers said in unison, laughing.

"Marta decides she wants more cute baby bunnies," Moira started the story for my eager young ears.

"...so we perform a fertility ritual to make more bunnies...," Myrna joined in.

"…as if rabbits need any help with prolific procreation!" Marta interrupted, gasping with laughter at the memory.

"Suddenly we're overrun by rabbits!" Myrna choked out through spasms of laughter.

Grandma Lucy grimaced at the memory. "The female rabbits had litter after litter, which were all female, too, and I swear, born pregnant! They escaped, decimated the greenhouse, ate the front lawn down to nothing and threatened to out-number the elk, and that's saying something in a county where elk out-number people three to one."

"We spent a year cleaning up that mess," Aunt Lindy informed me. "We had to learn some lessons the hard way."

Each girl had unique gifts that were intensified when she was around her sisters. Myrna could feel and share the emotions of others. With her sisters near, she could tell if someone was lying. This was a useful talent when it came to face-to-face business negotiations. With one exception – me – no one could lie to Myrna.

Moira's ability to communicate with animals, especially the domesticated kind, made her the first person a family member called when they got a new puppy. "Unfortunately, we had all our neighbors' dogs hanging around," Marta recalled, "competing with the elk and deer for space on the lawn."

Moira also had a way with plants, and those she tended grew twice as fast and produced much more than average. With her sisters' help, she soon had our orchard producing three times as many apples as before and the old greenhouse was torn down and forest was cleared to build a new, massive, state-of-the-art greenhouse with a huge garden behind it. Our growing season was year-round.

Marta's special gift of dreaming about the future was the most perplexing. She was very in tune with the weather and knew when you would need an umbrella. She might dream that an elk was going to dart out in front of your car, or if a loved one would be leaving the physical world for the spiritual one, but the dreams were not exact. She often dreamed of winning lottery numbers, but not what day they would be chosen or by whom. She could tell Grandpa Jon that his friend Tom was going to have a heart attack in the near future but could never pinpoint the exact day or time. It was enough information, though, to prompt Grandpa Jon to convince his friend to go to the doctor and he ended up on heart medication that most likely prolonged his life.

So with the gifted sisters, and to the consternation of the Bindenhall family leaders, Crystal Creek began generating almost all the food my family needed with plenty of extra to sell at the farmers' markets and local area restaurants.

Each week, crates of eggs, fresh cows' and goats' milk, and sheep's wool left the farm, along with large trucks of produce. Aunt Lindy taught the three sisters to sew all their own clothing, make their own soap and candles, and soon they began producing these things along with an organic and luxurious line of lotions, shampoos and creams to sell in gift shops around Reynoldsville, Ridgeway, Brookville and Cooksburg under the name of _Three Sisters_, which earned enough to sustain the farm and the family completely independent of the Bindenhall trust.

When the three put their minds to something, there was very little they could not accomplish. "Always the three in agreement must be," went the old saying, "and their will be done."

The three completed high school and passed all the state exams to receive their diplomas by age fifteen and it was time for them to seek higher education.

They began attending classes at the local community college in Dubois, always escorted by Grandma Lucy or Aunt Lindy, who would run interference between the three beautiful, odd, sisters, and their many male pursuers. For this very reason they had been home-schooled their entire childhood and in college, attended classes on different nights. One sister got plenty of attention; but, with all three in a room together, none of the male students or teachers could leave them alone, necessitating the need for constant chaperoning.

They soon exhausted everything the local community college could offer and enrolled in nearby Clarion University.

While working on Crystal Creek Farm by day and attending classes at night, each obtaining advanced degrees.

It was while attending the university that Myrna Bindenhall first laid eyes on Joseph Michael Grace, and fell deeply and madly in love, which caused more trouble in the family.

**Chapter Three**

**Joseph and Myrna**

Joseph Grace Jr. was the only son of Joseph Sr. and Emily Grace, born to them late in life when they were both in their mid-forties. He was a great lover of music and enjoyed playing the piano as a hobby. He had enjoyed great success in sports while in high school, especially track and field, where two of his cross-county records still stand. He was also my father.

He caught the eye of Myrna Lucille Bindenhall while playing music in one of the private practice rooms at the university they both attended, purely for recreational purposes. He was a science major who planned to become a veterinarian.

Apparently, it was love at first sight for both of them, and they quickly became a couple. However, Myrna kept the relationship secret in the beginning, fearing that if he ever met her sisters, he would become enamored with them and ruin everything.

This led to the first and _only_ fight the three sisters ever had. Angry and insulted that Myrna would sneak around and fall in love without telling them a loud argument that shook the trees and stirred up the wind ensued. The cows and goats became restless in the barn, the hens abandon their nests to cluck and flutter about their coop in distress and the dogs howled incessantly. There had never been any secrets among the three before.

Aunt Lindy and Grandma Lucy intervened and a truce was called. Joseph would meet each sister, one at a time, in a public place, to judge his reactions before he saw them all together. Myrna would know right away if he became attracted to them, too, with her ability to sense emotions.

Somehow, Myrna had managed to find and fall in love with one of the few men immune to the charms of the three. While he greeted them pleasantly, he did not fall in love with her sisters.

The romance progressed quickly and following Joseph's graduation, he and Myrna announced their engagement and that she was leaving Crystal Creek to move in with Joseph. This was the first time the three ever lived apart.

The news that Myrna Bindenhall planned to leave the farm to marry an outsider was not received favorably within the family. Many were absolutely incensed that she would even consider such a thing and could not believe her parents would allow it.

Charles and Adele Bindenhall, returned to America and Crystal Creek arriving in dark luxury cars surrounded by an army of bodyguards, a matchmaker, a doctor and several lawyers, all family members, of course, to confront my grandparents and demanded the marriage be called off.

In a letter I found while looking for an old ledger in Moira's office they declared that they would find a suitable match for all three sisters if the girls were ready to take the vows and begin the task of procreating to further the line.

"To say they were a hostile invasion is putting it lightly," Marta said dryly, retelling me the story when I was about ten years old.

"They literally stormed the manor and demanded all wedding plans be halted immediately, the engagement be called off and Joseph Grace paid off to leave and never see Myrna again, " she continued in dramatic fashion.

To me this is where the story really gets really interesting. My mothers and Grandma Lucy always relish the re-telling of this confrontation and I never tire of hearing it.

"Your grandfather did not appreciate his home being invaded by uninvited guests and he took great offense at being ordered to do something in his own home with regard to daughter and especially by Charles Bindenhall, whom he despises for his heavy-handed, arrogant attitude," Grandma Lucy said.

"Dad had been keeping the shotgun by the door because I told him I had dreamed that they would be standing on the porch and it would be one of the hottest days in June. I just couldn't nail down the date because we were in the midst of a heat wave at the time. Every day was hot, hot, hot."

"So here it is late June, scorching hot and all these Bindenhall Brits are standing on the front porch in dark suits with Dad blocking the front door with a shotgun."

"I set the dogs on them, too." Moira laughed. "So I could run to the phone and try to call Myrna and Joseph, to keep them from getting involved, but I was too late."

"Charles and Adele are fuming at this reception because they are used to everybody bowing and scraping before them like they're the king and queen of England," Grandma Lucy went on. "They're used to giving an order and it being followed, because they hold the purse strings and most of the family is afraid of Adele. She's a formidable witch and no one wants to get on her bad side."

"But they have no power here," Marta told me gleefully. "Crystal Creek is self-sustaining. We don't take a penny from the Bindenhall Family Trust and Adele is no match for us."

Moira jumped in to share her version of the events: "Myrna and Joseph finally show up as Charles is cursing out the window of his car where they have retreated to escape the dogs and a bull elk in the driveway, snorting and pawing the ground. I have to go out there and coax him out of the way when I see their car coming up the driveway so they can park."

"I was almost knocked over by the intensity of emotion when I get out of the car and ran to stand with my sisters so they can help me block it," Myrna added.

"Joseph is understandably confused by all this, of course," she continued. "He knows all about us, we have no secrets, which means technically we have violated the no outsiders being allowed to see our gifts rule, but this is the first time he really sees it," she told me and I knew what she meant. It was his first exposure to the true power of the three.

"So Moira calls off the dogs," Grandma Lucy said, "and we invite Charles and Adele to come back up on the porch to talk, but not in the house; your grandfather won't have it. He won't put down the gun either." Grandma Lucy chuckled at the memory.

"Joseph is leaning on the porch rail, taking it all in," Myrna said. "I think he thought I was kidding when I told him that my relatives used a matchmaker to find their children "suitable" spouses. He just couldn't believe modern people outside the third world still had arranged marriages."

"So, there are all three of my daughters, arms linked, standing in between Jonathan and me with Adele Bindenhall, staring daggers at them and Charles is throwing out threats and insults not even acknowledging Joseph sitting there," Grandma Lucy told me.

Moira sniggered. "Charles is going on about how this is an outrage, to let this outsider in on family secrets, saying we will be poisoning – yes, poisoning – the bloodline if he and Myrna have children and he won't have it. Then the matchmaker tries to get out of the car, but I set the dogs on him. He starts shouting out the window that he has the perfect groom in mind."

"Oh, please," Myrna scoffed with a trace of amusement. "This matchmaker cousin has never even met me and he says he has the perfect groom for me?"

Marta chimed in: "The last straw was when Charles suddenly turns on Joseph, and says, 'How much will it take? Name your price and all you have to do is walk away.'"

"We're shaking with anger, my own, my sisters, and I'm picking it up from Charles and Adele too. I quit trying to block it, so it's pounding into me," Myrna said, "and that's when..."

"...everything went crazy!" the three all said at the same time.

Suddenly the sky turns dark right above us, like someone threw a blanket over the sun," Grandma Lucy told me. "A frigid wind whips across the porch and slams the door against the house. We could hear and see a blue buzz of electricity that starts crackling around your mothers. Then a branch breaks off of a nearby tree with a horrific crunch and falls on the hood of one of their cars. A huge bull elk comes charging across the lawn, a few of his friends right behind him.

They are the guardians of the property in a way and when they smell fear and anger it gets them all riled up," Moira said.

Myrna nodded vigorously, her eyes shining with excitement. "Braving the dogs, a couple of the security guards jump out of the car and come running up on the porch. One of them makes a grab for us, touches my arm and _wham_, down he goes. He crawls off the porch and the other one hustles Charles and Adele down the stairs and back into a car before the elk trample them."

"I've got to let go of my sisters and rush down on the lawn to stop the elk and call off the dogs," Moira said then, laughing a little at the chaos they had caused. "And all those cars roared out of here!"

"Adele is mortified to be shown up in front of her own people. She touts herself as the most powerful witch in the coven but she's no match for "the three," Grandman Lucy added.

Myra said, "I look over at Joseph and he is understandably a little shocked. I thought he might take off, too, but then he just throws back his head and laughs and laughs."

"Then he says..."

"...says..."

"... says, 'Damn baby, you girls are some wicked little witches!'" All three said at the same time, and laughed.

The wedding proceeded as planned, a small, private affair in the backyard, and there was not another word from any of the Bindenhall family members.

"The Krugers, a German coven, sent congratulations, and, of course, the Theroux family was supportive. They had a lot of cousins who married outside the family and I think acceptance was easier for them. Elise Sutter Theroux, who was always a friend to your mothers, had a lot to do with that," Grandma Lucy said.

A few months after the wedding, Aunt Lindy made peace with those family members who were unhappy about one of the most gifted witches ever born leaving her coven to marry an outsider. Then, when news of Myrna's pregnancy spread, all was forgiven, but trouble would soon find my family again.

**Chapter Four**

**Prophecies**

My arrival into the secret society of witches, at 12:01 a.m. on Samhain, or as outsiders know it, Halloween, apparently did much to re-unify the Bindenhall coven. A child of "the three," born on the sacred day, with vivid purple eyes is described in the ancient texts as, "The One."

The fact that I had an outsider for a father was astounding to many, Myrna told me once. The extended family had to come see me in the flesh, so convinced that such a thing couldn't have occurred with diluted blood. My arrival with all the signs only served to really demonstrate how powerful and special "the three" really are, to create a sacred child with the blood of an outsider.

The moniker bestowed on me at birth comes from The Old Religion. My mothers were often thought of as a singular with three forms, like the Blessed Mother, whom all covens revere as the giver of life. The ancient texts refer to me as "a daughter of the three, who is "The One."

There had been another witch born to three mothers who was called "The One" a few hundred years ago. Her mothers lived together as mine do, but were all married with sons when the blonde sister, Arwen, gave birth to a daughter on Samhain with dark purple eyes. She was called Maeve and her gifts were formidable indeed. She lived a very turbulent short life and it is said she could burn anything with just a look, and did! Men were enamored with her and the old stories say they would push aside their wives and plead for her touch, her smile, anything, and fights would break out amongst them. Her family built a secret tower to keep her locked away from the men and to save her family members from being persecuted by the townspeople. It is written that her siblings and other family members were terrified of her because she would flew into dark rages, communed with the dead and was often possessed by evil spirits seeking revenge on those who had wronged them when they were alive. One night she escaped her tower, set a pack of wolves on her family, then hurled herself off a cliff at the tender age of thirteen. Well, that's what the ancient texts say, anyway.

My mothers told me that many in the family feared I would turn out just like Maeve, a powerful witch consumed by her dark side who would wreak havoc on them all. If I exposed them to outsiders we would all be in danger and those who did not believe that would happen wanted to use my gifts to help the family achieve even greater wealth and power, keeping the Bindenhall coven the undisputed leader of all the families. It felt like my life was not my own, and that I would always be a prisoner dark prophecies and unreasonable expectations.

I began my life in grieving household. Shortly after my birth, on a dark road, slick with an early fall snow, Joseph Grace was killed in a head-on collision by an oil tanker skidding out of control on a blind corner. He was on his way to pick up my mother and me from the hospital where he'd insisted I be born. He wanted Myrna in a hospital instead of being delivered on Crystal Creek Farm by Aunt Lindy, a trained mid-wife, and surrounded by curious extended family members, visiting for Samhain. Many years later, when I was deemed old enough to handle the story, I was told that upon hearing the news that Joseph was dead, Myrna collapsed and had to be re-admitted to the hospital where she lay in a catatonic state for twelve days.

Moira and Marta rushed to her side and immediately assumed responsibility for my care. They both began lactating and were able to nurse me – a medical mystery, or miracle, depending on how you viewed it.

Then on the thirteenth day following Joseph's death, Myrna suddenly sat up and demanded to know the whereabouts of her daughter. She checked herself out of the hospital and sat outside in the freezing cold October air, waiting for her sisters to pick her up. She never returned to the small apartment that she and Joseph had shared; instead, she moved back into her old bedroom in Bindenhall Manor.

Myrna told me that she was "inert with grief" and despite her return to the farm she was incapable of taking care of a new baby.

"Your other mothers cared for you, as a daughter of their own flesh," she said. "You bonded with them as completely as you had with me. And we made a fortune selling all the extra breast milk. That money is in your trust fund."

Grandma Lucy and Aunt Lindy graciously received all the family members who came to see me and to offer Myrna condolences on the loss of her husband. Many of them had just been at Bindenhall Manor, celebrating the sacred Sabbat and anxiously awaiting my birth. They had all known Joseph and liked him very much, welcoming him despite his outsider blood.

Since Myrna was unable to receive guests and spent long hours sleeping through her grief, Marta and Myrna patiently answered our relatives many questions about me, listened to all the dire predictions about my gifts, and even had to put off a few family members eager to begin exploiting them. According to them, though, most just came to see "The One," and offered to help me hone my gifts in the future, whatever they may be.

"It was the least many of them could do," Aunt Lindy said. "Your mothers have traveled all over the world to help family members with their marriage problems, fertility issues, bless their babies and new homes, contact their relatives in the spirit realm awaiting reincarnation, and interpret dreams and scrying visions," she enlightened me.

Scrying is where the myth of a gypsy or witch gazing into a crystal ball to tell the future comes from. Actually, one gazes into any reflective surface and focuses on their issue or problem, hoping for a vision to guide them. Many in the family relied on help from the three to interpret their visions.

Whenever news of an ill family member reached them, all three headed off to ease their suffering and help their family learn to prepare and cook the herbs that would aid in recovery.

However, in the years after my birth, Grandma Lucy told me they became less and less willing to travel very far or be gone for very long now that they had a young daughter who needed to be educated in all things secular, like reading and mathematics, as well as witchcraft.

Grandma Lucy showed me all the pictures and mementos family members had taken and left for me when I was a baby. They were placed in our "Book."

The Book, the Book of Shadows, or an Ancient Text is something every family like mine possesses. It is handed down from generation to generation to keep track of the family lineage, record the death of family members, what spells and magic they used and why, and any warnings or words of wisdom that should be shared with future generations.

There were lots of prophecies concerning me as "The One:"

_The one shall grace the Earth during the sacred hour of Samhain and you shall know her by her violet eyes..._

_The one shall be protected and nurtured with great care for she shall be the most gifted and dangerous of the Blessed Mother's children. She shall possess the ability to drive men wild and they will battle to the death with no regard for their families, even wives and children, for her touch..._

_All creatures, great and small shall know no fear of The One for she shall speak the language of the wild boar and the gentlest of steeds alike..._

_The One, with the violet eyes, born at the stroke of midnight on Samhain, shall know all her gifts at the age of fruition, the thirteenth year of her life..._

The prophecies and warnings poured in and I poured over them throughout my childhood with a feeling of dread for what supposedly lay in store for me. They could only bring me trouble, I reasoned.

Some, more than others, terrified me:

_The One, that witch of the fairest skin and most vivid purple of eyes, shall be a portal for which those who have lost their earthly bodies through violence or other trauma, and they will seek to use her to wreak havoc on the living... _

_Those poor souls not ready to accept death shall seek out The One and drag her to the other side... _

The visits eventually slowed down though, when I appeared to be just an ordinary little girl for the time being. My grandpa Jon was especially glad when I finally became less of an object of speculation and curiosity and our mostly quiet existence, tucked away in the forest, resumed.

To be safe, and at the behest of family elders, I was kept closely guarded on the grounds of Crystal Creek Farm, lest my gifts suddenly manifest themselves. Due to the turbulent and tragic life of the last "One," Maeve, it was thought best that I be kept close to home, and isolated from outsiders, which would protect our secret society and save us from any unwanted scrutiny. My mother's agreed that the unpredictability of my gifts called for caution and began homeschooling me in all things secular and witchcraft.

They spent long hours preparing my lessons in math, reading, geography, world affairs, science and history. I learned how to grow and tend plants, milk the cows and goats, gather the eggs from the hens, and make soap, candles and even to sew my own clothing.

"The hens will give us more eggs if they are happy," Moira taught me. "If they feel safe from harm, assured of regular food and gentle handling, they produce more abundantly."

So I grew up on our farm with very little contact with the outside world, but was allowed free run of the farm, largely unsupervised, after my lessons were done each day. I roamed about; a barefoot ragamuffin in homemade garb, playing with Moira's cats and, running through the woods with the dogs, climbing trees and swinging from branch to branch, imagining myself Tarzana, queen of the jungle.

In the summer I read books out on the back porch, the dogs lolling by my feet, waded in the stream on hottest days, and napped in the big hammock under the trees on the side lawn, elk grazing quietly around me.

In the winters I built snowmen, sometimes snow families, and an igloo once, with my grandpa's help. My mothers would use their ability to manipulate water and create an ice skating pond in the backyard by forming a circle with the water and then patiently waiting for it to freeze. Then we would spend hours whirling and twirling around on our skates.

From Joseph, my father, I inherited a love of running and one day when I was only seven years old, I decided to run around the entire farm. I loved the feeling of my feet flying over the ground, my heart pounding and my lungs pulling in great gulps of air. I ran barefoot through that summer and then Marta brought me my first pair of running shoes, as the days grew shorter and colder, so I could keep up my daily running routine. Then, when snow blanketed the ground, I was given boots and snowshoes, so I could keep going.

It became a ritual to take a long run early in the morning and then join my grandfather in the barn to gulp down a fresh glass of cow's milk still warm from the udder. In companionable silence, I helped him feed the animals and gather the eggs.

I heeded Moira's advice about the animals and made sure to give each pig a scratch behind the ear, pick the straw pieces out of their water trough and feed them food scraps from the compost buckets. I sang softly to the goats because they seemed to like it and fell silent when I started a song.

I wanted for nothing, as my mothers made my clothes and bought or traded for whatever I needed. We grew almost all of our own food, so I ate only the freshest produce, the richest goat cheese, enjoyed roasted organic chicken and drank fresh, unpasteurized milk.

I buried myself in my school work, learning to type by the time I was eight, reading a dozen books a week and cultivating my own herbs and flowers in the greenhouse under my grandfather's and Moira's careful guidance.

During the harvest season, cousins would show up to help us pick the apples, ears of corn, tomatoes, peppers and other vegetables and fruits we grew. They stacked wheelbarrows full of lettuce, bunches of carrots, barrels of onions and cut long stalks loaded with Brussels sprouts. We worked alongside them until the fields were cleared; the cornstalks piled high, to be burned later.

The advantage of having an enormous family is that there was sure to be a relative in every field, every industry, and we often obtained what we needed in trade. When I needed new shoes there was a cousin who could provide them. If we needed our vehicles serviced, there was a cousin or two for that, and if we needed a new solar panel, a cousin was sure to roll up with one. In return, those who helped with the harvest or other needs left Crystal Creek loaded up with fresh produce, milk, eggs, packages of pork chops, fryer chickens, and roasts, creamy goat cheese, compost, soap, candles, teas, dried herbs and sometimes a kitten or two.

As for my special gifts and powers, they didn't materialize, making all the prophecies about me mere stories, with no reality. I did not seem to have a special way with animals, or plants, nor did I attract any strange men to our door begging for my affections. My mothers were disappointed that the only thing unusual about me, besides my oddly colored eyes, was that I was completely immune to their gifts. Myrna could never get a read on my emotions, making me the only person who could lie to her convincingly. Marta never dreamed about me and Moira quit trying to teach me to communicate with her dogs and settled for sending them with me into the forest for companionship and safety.

Aunt Lindy fretted about my lack of gifts often, and more than once I heard her talking about it with my mothers when they thought I was off playing in the woods or reading on the back porch.

"I wish we would see a sign already. With you girls the gifts were apparent at a very young age. She's nine-years old now, for crying out loud," she bemoaned to my mothers.

"Thirteen is the age of realization. We have a few years, yet," Marta reminded her calmly. "We should just be happy that she is smart, kind and enjoying a carefree childhood," Moira said.

"Her studies are on track, she's way ahead of kids her age with regard to the education and, thank the goddess in all her forms, she seems happy and content," Myrna said, making me feel better about being such disappointment when it came to gifts.

While I would never have admitted it to them, I was profoundly relieved to have remained an ordinary girl with no special gifts. I did not want to be some powerful witch tending the needs of family, married off eventually and expected to produce the next great and gifted heir. I longed to explore the world rather than settle for an isolated rural existence like my mothers had. I caught glimpses of the fast-paced, action packed lives of outsiders on the internet and wanted to visit huge cities like London, Bejing and New York, go surfing, climb massive peaks in foreign countries and eat Snickers candy bars when ever I felt like it.

I kept these thoughts to my self, but often daydreamed dreamed of the day that I would make my own way in the world free of ancient prophecies and heavy expectations.


End file.
